


Defective

by AbditoryWriting



Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arguments, Bittersweet Ending, Major Character Injury, Mass Genocide, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:01:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28989636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbditoryWriting/pseuds/AbditoryWriting
Summary: Dib knows he tried his best, but as he stares down at ZIM's lifeless body draped across the Spike, he realizes his best was no where near enough.
Relationships: Dib & Gaz (Invader Zim), Dib & Professor Membrane, Dib & The Resisty (Invader Zim), Dib & Zim (Invader Zim)
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

Dib smashes against the wall. A sharp pain stabs the base of his spine and shoots upward to the base of his skull. He crumples to the ground with a groan, gritting his teeth. The ridged stone floor presses into his shoulder. But as he tries to prop himself up, his arm collapses out from under him, and he crashes to the ground again.

A clang of metal echoes throughout the room. Dib looks up towards the sound, squinting. A blurry green mass swipes through the bars at something else on the other side. The mass releases a shrill screech and clangs desperately at the metal. A beep echoes throughout the room, a spritz of cold liquid following a second behind. 

It screeches again with a garbled string of words that Dib loosely identifies as IRKEN. “Release ZIM this instant! The Tallest would not stand this. . . this _criminal treatment_ of IRK’s finest Invader. Release me!”

A smell similar to burnt beef wafts around the room, intertwining with something metallic and a hint of burnt plastic. Desperate scratching against stone comes from beside the door, and as ZIM settles on pacing from one wall to the other, Dib could faintly make out streaks of a translucent pink. 

“ZIM.” He cringes at both the metallic taste of the air and the sound of his voice: quiet and hoarse with disuse. “Sit down, you fucking moron. Won’t help if you hurt yourself.” 

The clicking of ZIM’s footsteps comes to a halt for a moment. “ZIM will do whatever he pleases, Dib-Meat. The guards’ facial scanners probably just. . .” he swallows, “malfunctioned. Yes. . . They do that.”

He paces for another minute or so before plopping down on the floor a foot and a half away from Dib. A wave of cold air seeps into the cell and ZIM hugs his knees to his chest, shivering. Dib squeezes his eyes shut as waves of gooseflesh wash over his bare skin where his trench coat and jeans were ripped. 

With a groan, he places his arm under him and props himself up. A particularly rough huff of breath produces steam that swirls around his face. His arm trembles and shakes, but he shoves himself up to sit against the wall. Crimson liquid stains the stone where he’d laid. A rip in the front of his bloodstained shirt reveals a large, still-oozing gash on his chest.

“Fucking hell. . .” He pinches the bridge of his nose to bite back a headache before slipping his trench coat off. The cold assaults his arms and chest. Despite his shivering, he drapes his trenchcoat around ZIM. “Here. Take it.”

ZIM cringes against the metallic smell, but pulls the tattered black fabric tighter around himself. Despite the coat seeming to swallow him whole, wisps of cold air still find their way through rips and tears. ZIM scowles and curls up into Dib’s side, nuzzling into the crook of his arm. Dib inwardly chuckles and wraps an arm around him to keep him close. His fingers sift against ZIM’s antennae.

At the feel of his antennae being touched, ZIM tenses for a moment before melting into it. A broken rumbling blooms from his chest, pittering out in some places and intensifying in others. Dib chuckles and pulls him closer. He leans against him and closes his eyes. And for a moment, they’re the only things that exist. 

Until ZIM lays a hand on the gash in his chest. He hisses in pain and shoves ZIM’s hand away. “ZIM, that hurts.” 

“I am. . . not surprised.” ZIM moves his hand back to the gash, tracing the outsides of the wound. He scowls when Dib’s breath hitches, and he writhes under ZIM’s claws. “Yes, yes. Your weak human body is in pain. We would not be in this situation if you had not insulted ZIM.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“You referred to me as a ‘Defective.’ ZIM is not a filthy lowlife Irken.”

Dib blinks once or twice, turning to meet ZIM’s eyes. He studies them for a moment, noting the uncharacteristic dullness. “You’re a criminal. You killed two of your leaders, caused two wide-scale blackouts, blew up the planet, and wiped out most of your own race. ZIM, you’re listed as a Food-Service Drone in the Database.”

“That’s nonsense! The Control Brains had mistaken me for some other space criminal.” ZIM stares up at him, clenching his fist hard enough to where it trembles. “It was a simple mistake during the Life Evaluation. I am still Irk’s finest Invader. I will forever be part of Irk’s elite group.”

“Listen to me!” Dib shifts with a wince, grabbing ZIM’s shoulders and giving them a shake. “We’ve been over this! I. . . Look.” His hand trails down to the collar of ZIM’s uniform and gently moves it to the side to expose his collarbone. He runs his fingers over the small brand. An Irken symbol, but cracked in the middle. “This proves it.

“They treat you like utter shit, and you’re too stupid to see that blindly following them is doing more harm than good.” 

“ZIM is not stupid.” ZIM shoves Dib’s hand away. “And I’m _not_ blindly following them. It is merely what I am coded to do. We Irkens do nothing but conquer and serve as we are emotionless pawns to the Control Brains. We are a race of perfect soldiers.” He scowls. “I will not listen to another word from an inferior race. You have no place to speak on it.”

Dib searches ZIM’s face in disbelief. “You have a cho—”

_“Not another word.”_

_“ZIM.”_

“Shut. . .” ZIM takes a breath, staring at the wall. A dark look crosses over his face. “Shut your human mouth. No doubt they’ll be arriving for us soon. I fear this is the end for us both. So. . . s-say no more. Sleep, Dib-Meat. Not to heal; healing won’t matter after the Trial has concluded. But so time will pass.”

Dib opens his mouth to speak, but clamps it shut again with a quick nod.

“Good. . . We’ll meet again. Dib.”

———————————————

Dib opens his eyes, blinking rapidly to adjust to the light. He looks around, and notices nothing but a bare room. His brows furrow. He shifts his arms, and tilts his head at the black fabric wrapped around him. The trench coat. Where the pink streaks on the wall were before he’d fallen asleep, nothing remains but stone.

He shakes his head and gently presses his hand to his chest, groaning when a spark of pain hits his nerves. The pain lingers for a moment before ebbing away. He stares at it for a beat, straining to remember where he’d gotten the injury. Everything seemed like a blank slate. No past, no future. Only the present. 

When he looks up from his thoughts, ZIM stands in front of him. Metal wiring lines the walls of the small area and a magenta glow spreads throughout the room. ZIM stands amongst it with his fists resting on his hips, chest puffed out despite the bruises littering his body, a missing ocular implant, and a sparking PAK. 

“Dib! You have come after all. . .” When silence follows his greeting, scans Dib. His antennae perk up as he eyes Dib’s hand. Or, more specifically, the rectangular device protruding from it. “What’s that?”

Dib scowls and slams the harddrive onto the makeshift table in front of him, panting. “Who’s side are you _on,_ ZIM?”

“Pft, what a dookie question.” ZIM tilts his head with a lopsided smile. His antennae twitch. “I’ve told you before, Dib-Stink. I know not of sides. Now tell me! What is that?”

“ZIM—”

“Tell me!”

“You’re—”

“I must know! Tell me!” 

“God _damn_ it, ZIM!” Dib slams his fist on the table, glaring at him. “Shut up and listen to me for once.” He takes a breath, grumbling to himself even though he’s satisfied with the silence following his snap.

 _“This,”_ he holds up the hard drive between his thumb and index finger, “is your information from the Irken Database. A Vortian friend of mine helped crack into it.” He shakes his head. “That’s. . . not the point. Point is, everything you’ve ever done is on this little thing here.” 

ZIM flashes a cocky smile. “Wonderful, isn’t it? Everything I have accomplished?” 

“What does it mean, ZIM?”

“Eh?”

“What you’re labeled as. ‘Defective.’ What does it mean?” Dib pushes up his glasses, peering at him. 

ZIM freezes. A tense silence seeps into the room as the two maintain eye contact. The soft humming of machinery wafts around the room. Slivers of magenta light filter through the gaps and halfway bathe the room in light. The tension grows as the silence stretches on. ZIM bares his teeth, fist clenched.

“You’re lying!” He shoves a finger in Dib’s direction, a scowl replacing the previous thoughtful look. “You do not know of what you speak! That term is reserved for criminals with free will from the Control Brains. ZIM is a loyal servant to his Empire, not qualified to be a Defective.”

“The four Tallest you’re directly responsible for the deaths for wouldn’t say the same.” Dib throws his hands into the air. “Would you stop acting like an idiot for once? You were exiled. _Twice!_ Our entire fucking relationship is based off a lie your Tallest made up to get you to leave them alone. You’re not even coded as an Invader. Open your eyes for once in your life!”

“A filthy Urth Creature has no place speaking such things about my Tallest.” ZIM’s voice drops to a lower tone. He slips in and out of IRKEN as he speaks. “My Tallest love me. They would never do the things you and TAK have accused them of doing. The Database is wrong. The Control Brains made a mistake somewhere in the code. You’re a filthy liar.”

Dib grits his teeth, whipping around and slipping back through the machinery to leave. A wave of tense silence crashes over them once again. The heavy breathing from behind him hitches and quickens, but Dib continues to twist and wind through the machinery. With a screech of rage, ZIM grabs Dib’s arm and yanks him back into the room. He pins Dib to the ground, swiping his claws across his chest.

PAK legs burst from their host, pinning taking ZIM’s role of pinning Dib to the ground. With his hands free, ZIM pants and screeches, ripping and tearing Dib’s trench coat and the shirt underneath. Strips of torn fabric flutter to the ground. He fastens his claws around Dib’s throat and presses them into the side. 

He watches blindly as Dib tries to wrench himself out from under him, tightening his hold. A spark of satisfaction pierces his Squeedlyspooch as Dib releases a fearful, broken scream. His glasses lay lopsided on his face, magnifying his frantic eyes and the way they dart from place to place. A shade of purple seeps into the mid-tone brown, and ZIM blinks, loosening his grip for just a moment. 

Dib shoves ZIM off of him the moment he gets and backs himself into a corner to keep the distance between them. He places a protective hand over his throat, pulling his knees up to his chest so that no further damage could be done. ZIM’s antennae twitch, and he looks around frantically. A panicked expression crosses his features. He scuttles around the room on his PAK legs for a minute before making his way over to Dib, who presses back against the wall. 

As the room quiets down, a frantic clicking reverberates off of the machinery. Dib looks around the room before realizing ZIM’s PAK produces the noise. The sparking seems to have intensified, spurting through a damaged port. ZIM’s antennae twitch, and his head snaps in several directions towards the openings of the room. Dib furrows his brows. Animalistic.

“ZIM?” 

ZIM snaps his head toward Dib for a moment before snapping his head in the direction of distant footsteps. A low growl rumbles in his throat as a mixture of discordant voices echo from his PAK.

_“Approaching danger. Isolation required to complete automatic reset. Please locate the nearest safe room. Assailant 10 sook away.”_

_“5 sook”_ He begins to pace around the room on his PAK legs, snapping his head in each direction. 

_“1 sook.”_ His breathing hitches and quickens, and his ocular implants shift hue a few times. He freezes.

_“0 sook.”_


	2. Chapter 2

“Keep movin’,” the guard spits in IRKEN, shoving their clawed hand between Dib’s shoulder blades and shoving him along.

A sharp pain shoots through his abdomen, and he winces. The tattered cloth of his clothes reveals a fresh gash just under his chest. His stomach churns at the sight, and he gags, pausing in pure shock. The adrenaline had faded, and the area throbs. His guide glares at him, raising their hand, and he limps faster to keep up with them. 

Dib walks in silence, focusing on the rhythm of his own clicking footsteps. The judgemental stares of countless IRKENS burn into his body from all sides. Whispers occasionally reach his ears, and he has to stop himself from screaming out at the purely stupid accusations. He grits his teeth, hoping for this to be an elaborate joke orchestrated by his Tallest.

After all, there’s no way that he could be Defective.

They lead Dib into a hallway with translucent blue walls lined with stars and planets. Dib’s eyes widen at the sight, and he feels himself smiling. The metal floors reflect the content of the walls with a background glow peeking through the spaces between the metal slabs. He hums and stares up at the domed ceiling dotted with galaxy clusters and their star systems.

The chair shifts under his weight, and he glances at the display of a planet with several shades of magenta and purple. Several layers of metal rings surround the planet in different directions. It reminds Dib of an atomic display. He looks back down at the half-sketched diagram matching the planet in front of him and a series of Vortian pens and pencils scattered around his work area.

A hand adorning filed-down claws slips onto the desk, the clicking steps coming to a stop. “How’s the diagram coming along?”

Dib doesn’t look up from his drawing, twirling one of the pens around his finger. “It’s going okay.” He hums, scanning the diagram. “IRK is a lot more complicated than I expected. . . Hey, Lenn-Arc, do you think you can tell me some of the history?”

He looks up at his father with a spark of hope. Membrane runs his thumb along the Mothman diagram Dib had worked for hours on, his lips twitching downwards. The hope drains with the change of facial expression, and the color drains from Dib’s own. He swallows the lump in his throat and reaches for the drawing. 

“I, uh. . . I’m sorry, Dad. You can get back to your work.” He tugs at the bottom of it, furrowing his brow at Membrane’s grip on the drawing. “Dad? C-Can I have it back? . . . Please?”

“You did well, Son.” 

The words said differ from the tone. Subtle, but still there. Dib’s breath hitches, and with a burst of blind panic, he rips the diagram out of Membrane’s hand. The loud ripping seemed to echo throughout the room. Dib stares at the torn drawing in his hands and then to the fragments still clutched between Membrane’s fingers.

He drops the piece and tears his eyes from it. The charred contents of his room lay scattered across the floor, reduced to nothing but ash and soot. His eyes well with tears. He blinks and wipes the moisture with shuddering hands. 

“I would suggest not cluttering up my cockpit, Human.”

“Shut it, TAK.” Dib hunches over, clutching his aching wrist and staring at the papers scattered around the floor. “I don’t need your shit right now.”

“And I don’t need you making yet another mess you won’t clean.” She takes a moment to reflect on her quip. “And yet here we are.”

Dib resists the urge to roll his eyes, plopping down in the seat and closing his eyes. The rumbling of the thrusters and the humming of machinery join the monitor’s static. ZIM’s transmission speech plays over and over through Dib’s head, and he furrows his brow. The declaration of war struck him as odd from the hasty, impatient tone ZIM used.

As they made their way up to highschool, ZIM’s plans took longer to formulate. They steadily grew in length until he would leave in silence for months on end before exploding into the building having already put it in action. He learned to be more patient over the years, and apply his intelligence to what he was working on.

It became harder for Dib to find out what his plan was and stop it. Sometimes, they succeeded in causing some damage. He runs his hand through his hair, remembering the three-day investigation at the Skool after five students were killed. He remembers ZIM’s confession to him. The sickening smile when he revealed the bioengineered parasites, and the Prom night as the ultimate test. 

Zita’s bone-chilling scream as the police drug her away still has Dib waking up in a cold sweat, even months later. He shivers and opens his eyes.

Darkness spreads across the room save for the yellow glow of the sparks erupting from ZIM’s PAK. Dib shifts and winces at the spark of pain in his abdomen, shivering from the cold. The chains holding him to the wall rattle, and a figure curled into his side groans and shifts. He gently shakes him. “Hey. . . ZIM, do you know where the hell we are?”

“On the way to Judgementia. For a Life Evaluation,” ZIM mumbles, snuggling further into Dib’s side for warmth. “Judging by the circumstances, you and I are being tried.”

The guards wouldn’t tell Dib anything, and shut him up when he tried to ask. “How. . . How do you know that?”

“. . . I have. . . I have heard stories from the few Irkens that were merely exiled.” He shudders, whether from the cold or the subject matter, ZIM had no clue. “As in. . . the ones that survived. They described a similar scene.”

Dib lays his head on ZIM’s, closing his eyes. He opens his mouth to speak but closes it right afterwards. ZIM faintly purrs and nuzzles into the touch, listening to Dib’s rough breathing. The pre-Trial anxiety wells up in his Squeedlyspooch, and he struggles to choke it down. Especially as the ships thrusters power down.

The thud of the landing makes his antennae perk up under Dib’s chin. He squeezes his eyes shut. 

“Oh. . .” Dib swallows. “Are you. . . are you nervous?”

“Absolutely not! ZIM does not get ‘nervous.’ That’s a filthy human feeling.” Despite the confident tone, his voice trembles and breaks in some places. One of his ocular implants flicker, and he taps it to get it to steady again.

Dib chuckles. “It’s okay to be nervous, you know.”

“I am  _ not  _ nervous!”

“Sure.” Dib flashes a lopsided smile. “We’ll be okay, ZIM. I promise.” 

ZIM nods, squeezing his eyes shut as the door opens and light filters into the area around them.

———————————————

"It is still alive."

"Why is it not dead?"

"We ordered it to be killed."

The pitchy voices send a soft echo through the heads of all to hear, externally booming and reverberating off of the metallic magenta walls. A collective shudder sweeps through the crowd of Irkens before the room returns to its previous state of silence. The humming of what seemed like miles of wiring and metal tubing climbing and intertwining on the far walls rises to dominance.

Large monitors looming on either side of the Control Brains showcase three Irken letters and the figure's hidden face. The same three syllabic clicks and warbling vibrations echo through the Spike of Judgement as the figure's blinders drift away from its face. ZIM’s antennae flatten against the back of his head as he meets the exhausted raspberry eyes showcased on the monitors.

"Irken ZIM," the deeper-voiced Brain begins. The voice booms above the mantra of the balconies, leaving silence in its wake as the echo fades from audibility. "Your time has come. Prepare yourself for all you deserve."

ZIM pulls at his chains keeping him tied to the platform, the IRKEN equivalent of a heart beating rapidly in his chest. His vision flickers as the Control Brains attach themselves to the ports of his PAK, albeit a bit of difficulty due to the bent metal. They hoist him up as far as his restraints allow. 

The first newer memory pops up on the monitors, and the stands erupt with protest. Dib sits cross-legged on a medical examination table with streaks of dried blood staining his face and shirt, watching with a small smile as ZIM wraps his wounds. ZIM shakes his head as he works, mumbling something under his breath before the screen freezes. 

His antennae twitch as the Irkens in the stands whisper amongst themselves. He glances around the room once or twice before locking eyes with Dib, who sits cross-legged in a caged-in area on another spike. A small voice from his PAK tells him to quiet down, and the room fades back into silence. 

The Control Brains stay silent until a feminine-voiced one speaks up. “Fraternizing with the enemy. Alone, punishable by death.”

The one on the left speaks up. “Yes, but his mission was not a mission at all. This. . . This  _ thing _ was exiled.”

“However,” the middle Control Brain quips, “may it be true that it was exiled, but it also truly believed that his exile was an important mission from the late Tallest. As a consequence, his actions are still an offense against the Irken Empire.”

“I suppose you are correct.” 

“No! No, no, no, wait! It’s. . . It’s not what it looks like. . . ?” ZIM shakes his head, ocular implants flickering again. The environment around him morphs and melts into a room filled with Vortian technology. He walks over to one of the Vortians hard at work at what looks like a replica PAK. 

“How much longer is it going to take?” 

“Not too much longer, Dib.” Lenn-Arc cranes his neck to glance at him before going back to tinkering with the metal. “Patience. It won’t be an exact replica to his, but it’ll have the memory of everything leading up to his Life Evaluation.” 

Dib runs a hand through his hair. “Can you help me install it? I don’t think I can reach back that far.” He chuckles dryly. 

“Yes, yes. I can help you.” Lenn-Arc sets his tool down and stares up at him. “You understand that it won’t be like the hybrid you met in that void, yes? There’s a large possibility that you could have much more severe complications.” 

“I don’t care. I-I just. . .” Dib blinks, shifting uncomfortably. “I. . . I can’t live without him. He’s been a huge part of my life for so long. I can’t go back to Earth empty-handed.”

“Disgraceful, feeling that way about an Irken, of all beings.” He offers a half-smile, then turns to fine-tuning some of the smaller details. With a small chuckle, he adds, “At least he didn’t hurt my children. I would think something so apathetic would have already done away with something so small.”

Dib hums to himself. He looks to the side, scanning the countless Irkens in the stands. They exchange excited whispers. For what, he doesn’t know. The Control Brains release him, and he comes crashing to the ground. It takes a moment for his ocular implants to adjust to the quick movement, but when the Life Counter within his PAK starts, the string snaps. 

He pulls at his chains, screeching in panic. “I am ZIM! You. . . I. . . I am IRK’s finest Invader! I am an Elite! I. . . I can’t live without my PAK! Give it to me!  _ Give it to me!”  _

The darkened edges of his vision spread until the room fades into black. Dib’s faint voice telling him that it’s going to be okay. Faint whispers of, “I’m cold,” and, “I don’t wanna die.” The sudden warmth of some type of fabric around him. He collapses into Dib, finally noticing the streaks of liquid running down his face and a faint dripping from above. His skin sizzles. Dib pulls him closer, laying his head on ZIM’s chest.

_ “Irken host expired.” _


	3. Chapter 3

Dib’s eyes widen, and he holds ZIM tighter. The tense stares of the Irkens in the stand bore into him from all directions, adding to the discomfort. He grits his teeth and lays his head on ZIM’s chest. He looks up to scream his disapproval, and a familiar burning wells up in his chest as he stares up to the monitor. 

He freezes, petrified, looking up at something that’s neither him nor ZIM. The amalgamation stares back at him, it’s skin shifting and melding together with the consistency of molten glass. Green and brown mixing and fusing. He couldn’t recognize himself in the mess. The scream rips through his throat, leaving the area burning and raw. He looks down at the corpse melding itself to his body and tries to rip himself away from it. 

The escape attempts —kicking, shoving, ripping the flesh apart—end in vanity. It swallows him and leaves him drowning. He struggles to control his breathing, staring up through the opening of Judgementia’s ceiling. ZIM had said something about that earlier. How he feared that the end would come for them. Dib cracks a broken smile, dissolving into a sob. 

He saw the light before he heard the explosion. 

The shockwave cracks the barrier around them, the heat filtering in and scorching his flesh. He grits his teeth and yelps. The communication device in his ear screeches before fading to silence again. 

“Dib.” Lard-Nar’s voice crackles through it. “Dib, come in.”   


“What. . . What the fresh  _ fuck _ did you do?” 

“We altered and enhanced the virus in his coding. The Control Brains couldn’t handle it. It didn’t take much work at all.” He clears his throat, cutting off a noise of disbelief from Dib. “You’re alive, I see. We weren’t sure you’d survive the mission.”

“You said you’d save him.” Dib swallows, then coughs into his hand.

“Look around you, Dib. Their influence is gone. Their leaders are gone.” Lard-Nar sighs. “If we promised to save him, you’d let us move forward with the plan with no hesitation. We had to do it.”

Dib lays ZIM’s body down in front of him, walking to the edge of the barrier. He squints. The green-black masses were still blurry, but a lot easier to make out. They lay motionless, charred beyond recognition. He forces down bile.  _ “They’re  _ gone. . . Is there going to be a Reform Movement for those who survived?” 

“All Irkens are connected to the Control Brains in some form or fashion.” Lard-Nar hums. “It’s likely that they all were killed. The ones who didn’t explode on impact are ticking time bombs with that virus in their code. It’s best for them to stay isolated. The most we can do for them now is to isolate and restrict the Irken Sector of the Ring. We’ll collect any non-Irken survivors and lead them to a safer area until their planets have healed.”

Dib glances back at ZIM’s body. “Remove the virus from ZIM’s data, and fit me for a PAK.”

He takes out his hearing aids and slumps down to the floor, wrapping ZIM’s body tighter into his trench coat. The once magenta ocular implants are now a dull grey. Dib sighs and tenderly runs a hand over his forehead, flinching at the chilled flesh. Tears well up in his eyes, but he blinks them away and glances to the side. 

ZIM grumbles to himself, rummaging through a drawer of random Irken medical supplies he had stocked up on. His hand takes a steep dip and recovers a small roll of gauze. He adds it to the pile of medical supplies on the table. “Dib-Shit with his stupid, puny human body. . . It’s going to be easy to kill him.” 

“What was that?” Dib shifts on the table, pushing up his glasses and swinging his feet back and forth. 

“ZIM said nothing. You’re lying!” He grasps Dib’s arm and studies the injuries. Most of which, ZIM, himself had caused. The scars left behind are going to be absolutely wonderful. ZIM cracks a smile. 

“Sure, Space Boy. The hell are you smiling about, anyway?” He tries to pull his arm away. “That’s creepy.” 

“Nothing, nothing.” ZIM grasps Dib’s arm tighter, dabbing a pinkish liquid onto some of the wounds. 

A burning sensation courses through Dib’s arm, and he sucks in a breath through his teeth. He closes his eyes and furrows his brow to try and chase the pain away. The ebbing burn slowly grows in intensity until it feels as if his wounds are being welded together rather than healing normally. 

He sucks in a breath and grips his wrist, leaning forward into ZIM’s shoulder. The burning increases into a white-hot scorching. His body trembles as he chokes back a pained cry, gritting his teeth. ZIM tenses for a second but soon relaxes and thumps Dib in the forehead. Stupid humans and their low pain tolerances. 

ZIM’s PAK clicks, and a small voice reminds him of the dangers of what he’s doing. Helping the enemy. The voice threatens him with legal action. A charge of treason. Conspiring against the Empire. He shudders and feigns disgust, stepping back from Dib.  _ Disgusting,  _ he chides himself. To his relief, it sedates the nagging voice.  _ Utterly disgusting creature. _

“They should be clean by now,” ZIM says with a flick of the wrist. “Extend your arm.”

Dib blinks and holds his arm out to ZIM, flinching. Some of the burning still pokes at him when he moves. ZIM scans it before grabbing the roll of medicated bandages. He unwraps a bit of it, checking for the slightest imperfection. 

“You’re fucking weird.” Dib eyes the roll, arching a brow. “There a speck of dirt on it, or something?” 

“Nonsense.” ZIM sneaks a glance. “ZIM is just making sure there is nothing that could infect the wounds.” 

He presses the start of the bandage against Dib’s arm and firmly wraps it around. Dib thought he saw ZIM pause for a moment to check for a pain response. But the cold seeping into his skin distracts him. It contrasts the searing sensation of the cleanser used earlier, much to Dib’s relief. He sighs to himself with the soothing cold.

The ice glides across his back between his shoulder blades. It leaves behind a trail sending streaks of residual moisture sliding down his back, starting off cold but warming up the farther it travels. Dib jumps at the strange feeling and grips at the cushion. A hand rests upon his shoulder to keep him still and secure. 

“Thanks, Gaz.” Dib reaches back and places his hand over hers resting on his shoulder to show that he’s okay. He resists the urge to rub his ears. The enhanced hearing aids his dad made for him weren’t too comfortable. But at least he could hear. 

“This was a bad idea. You know it.” Gaz slides the ice against the raised skin around the PAK. “I’m sick of you waking up in the middle of the night  _ screaming _ about something that happened when you went into space. And then  _ I  _ have to deal with your burt ass because Dad won’t look up from his work long enough to give a single soaring  _ shit. _

“Do you even know how goddamned  _ stupid  _ you are? You just got up in the middle of the night and left without a word. And then you have the nerve to show up with a PAK, destroyed ear drums, and countless unidentifiable injuries. Plus the news that ZIM’s fucking dead?” 

“How did you find that out, anyway?”

“You tried to bring his corpse into the house, you fucking psychopath.” She sighs. “Dad kind of saw it. He’s running these weird tests or experiments or whatever you wanna call it. You fought like hell.”

“Oh. Right. I forgot. And Dad. . . ,” Dib starts, licking his lips. He tries to turn around, but Gaz shoves him back into his before position. “You know Dad’s trying to help. He’s. . . He made me the hearing aids and is working on trying to understand and fix the PAK. Maybe he’ll finally believe me. This  _ is  _ real, right? I-I’m right here with you  _ right now?”  _

“Yes, Moron.” She rolls her eyes. “This is happening right now. In the present. This isn’t a part of one of your stupid attacks, or. . . whatever they’re called.” 

“A-Are you sure? What if —”

“Shut  _ up,  _ Dib!” Gaz sucks in a breath, smacking him in the back of the head. “And quit moving. It’ll make the swelling worse.” 

Dib opens his mouth to speak, but with another glare from Gaz, he shuts it again and settles with a nod. Instead, he chooses to focus on the ice trailing across his skin. The chill soothes his mind, but even so, as his eyelids droop, he pries them open again. He takes a breath. 

“Did. . . Did I just come out of one of those?” 

“It would appear so, Son.” Membrane kneels in front of him. As the panic spreads across Dib’s face, he lays a hand on his knee and gestures to Gaz, still standing behind him. “Pardon. I did not mean to startle you. I assure you that all of what you’re seeing right now is real.”

“Dad, don’t sneak up on him like that.” Gaz crosses her arms. “He’s still out-of-it.” 

“I see. Are they working well?” He taps his ear twice.

Dib nods a bit. “Yeah, they’re working fine.” He pauses, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Um. . . Dad? Did you find anything? With ZIM?”

Membrane hesitates, his breath hitching. “As for your green friend. I’ve not found an inkling of human DNA. His organs were difficult to examine, due to the decomposed state of the body, but they, too, match no Earthly creature I have had the pleasure of seeing.

“And the metal device on your back contains traces of unknown metals. I’m not sure what to make of this. You’d chalk it up to aliens, but the usual alien excuses are such an outlandish concept formed to explain the seemingly unexplainable. It’s utter nonsense. But this is incredible.”

Gaz pinches the bridge of her nose, but stays silent.

Dib sighs and hangs his head. “Please. At least just consider it. You’ve got the biology right there in front of you. It’s all  _ right there!” _

“Son.” Membrane looks up at him, face stern. “If anything, this is the  _ most  _ compelling evidence for your theory that I’ve seen thus far. I’ll have to admit, the option is on the table. However, since not everything is accounted for just yet, I’m still inclined to debunk your theory. Give me some time, and trust me. Whichever event comes up, will be the one I will believe.”

It isn’t much, but, still, it’s progress. Dib flings his arms around Membrane’s neck, and smiles when he gets the same in return. He buries his face in his shoulder to keep the tears at bay. Or, at least hide them for longer. The underlying anxiety sparks within his stomach. But when he looks back up, the room was like it was before. 

He chokes on a sob and buries his face in his hands. Membrane pulls him tighter, gently patting his hair. 

Dib sniffles. “Oh, God, it’s really you guys.” 

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you this whole time. You’re home.” Gaz lays her hand on Dib’s shoulder, rolling her eyes. Still, she cracks a faint smile. “And Dib? Never do that again.”

Dib laugh-sobs and wipes at his tears. “Yeah. . . I’m home.”


End file.
